


Null and Void

by Beleriandings



Series: Tales of Lake Mithrim [11]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Books, Brothers, Gen, Guilt, Halloween 2015 on Tumblr, Musings on the nature of the Oath, References to Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:31:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5169038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros has been rescued and brought back to Mithrim, but Curufin still has questions. It's just as well really that he has sleepless nights to search for answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Null and Void

“Up this late again, brother? Don’t you ever sleep?”

Curufinwë quashed the flinch he had been on the verge of.  _How foolish, a child’s fear. It was only Macalaurë_. His second eldest brother had always been one of the few who were able to sneak up on him on silent feet in the still air of the dead of night. 

“Why can’t you sleep, Curvo?”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you, in the circumstances?” He turned to the doorway, where Macalaurë leaned against the frame, his long, elegant fingers drumming idly and seemingly unconsciously against the wood. “Besides, I could ask you the same.”

Macalaurë laughed bitterly. “I’ve barely slept since Nelyo was taken, let alone since he was returned to us, as you well know.” He softened a little. “You crossed the lake with Tyelpë to visit him today, didn’t you?”

Curufinwë looked away.

Macalaurë came up behind his chair, and Curufinwë felt himself bristle as his brother looked over his shoulder, silently gazing at the notes that lay before him, the books and scrolls and records. He counted the seconds as he imagined Macalaurë silently reading the titles. 

The response came right on time. “ _Recollections of Captivity in Angband_ ” read Macalaurë. “ _Thralls of the Enemy and the Dangers They Pose: A Collection of Case Studies…. The Cruelties of the Dark One…. Basics of Mithrim Sindarin Healing and Herb Lore Compiled…. The Infliction of Pain and Musings on the Making of Orcs….. The Shadow of Cuiviénen: Fear, Belief and the Dark Side of the Great Journey…. Hroä and Fëa_ …. ” he sighed, letting a sheaf of Curufinwë’s notes slip through his fingers. “Curvo. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’m curious, what do you  _think_  I’m doing?” asked Curufinwë acidly, suddenly wishing his brother would leave. He felt tired, wrung out, though he had barely risen from his desk since his return to the southern camp. He shuddered a little as he looked down at the books, and his detailed notes. Much of what he had read, he would have preferred never to have known. 

“It looks  _very_  much like you’re indulging in self-flagellation” said Macalaurë mildly. He stilled Curufinwë’s half-formed protest with a hand extended into the air between them. “Please don’t think I don’t know the exact feeling.” Macalaurë lifted the cover of  _Recollections of Captivity in Angband_ , a book of personal accounts from those few who had escaped and their families and communities. He shook his head, shuddering. “Reading the accounts, matching the tortures they speak of to the scars on Nelyo’s skin when you go to visit him…” Macalaurë sighed. “Yes. I… I understand why.”

“I am seeking only to know. To… improve his care. To assist, if possible” said Curufinwë tightly. 

“And to hold yourself accountable” said Macalaurë, glancing shrewdly at Curufinwë. “If he suffers, you assume you…  _we_  must suffer too, if only vicariously, correct?”

Curufinwë almost laughed at this, a cracked, disbelieving sound escaping his lips. “I’m afraid you have the wrong person, brother. I suspect you might be thinking of yourself.”

Macalaurë narrowed his eyes, as Curufinwë stood up, facing him. 

“No” continued Curufinwë, “in fact, I do not waste my time with such things. Guilt is sewn into your soul, Káno, you will never be rid of your regrets. It is a flaw of yours, holding yourself in some sort of moral debt - in  _hindsight_ , of all things - for a decision that at the time we both agreed was the best choice in the circumstances. No, the only choice possible, or had you forgotten? No one but Findekáno could have rescued Nelyo. There… there was no possibility of the success of such an endeavour by any of us.”

“ _Neither_  of those two statements follow one from the other” said Maglor distractedly, running a hand through his hair, which fell loose about his shoulders. “Anyway, I still don’t quite believe you. Your denial of all regret is perhaps a  _little_  too strong.”

“Brother, if I didn’t know better I’d say you would let the weight of guilt build up upon you until it dragged you into the very Void itself. That does Nelyo no favours, nor will it turn back the time. And we can none of us exist like that.”

Maglor only snorted in disbelief. His eyes flicked over the books once more. “Alright. Say that I  _do_  believe you. Say that I accept that you’re only studying those grisly books day and night for academic purposes. What do you hope to learn?”

At this, Curufin did laugh, a quiet choked-off sound, dying in his throat. “Are you sure you want me to tell you, Káno?”

“If your fear is that Nelyo…” Macalaurë faltered, looking back at the books, uncertain for the first time. “If you fear that he has been… that he is… that he somehow remains under the Enemy’s control…”

Curufinwë frowned, clenching his fists. He hadn’t even wanted to consider that scenario, in truth.  _A weakness_ , he thought,  _that ought to be excised_. “It is a possibility that we must not discount” he said shortly. “However…”

“However?”

“I believe I have found something to suggest otherwise.”

Macalaurë raised an eyebrow. 

Curufinwue opened a book to the page he had marked, a page that fell open naturally anyway. “ ‘ _It is believed_ ” he read, “ _that those who “escape” Angband - seemingly by fair fortune - are in many cases in actuality turned loose with their free will removed, in order to fulfil the Dark One’s ’_  - ”

“Our brother  _wasn’t_  turned loose though” insisted Macalaurë, his face tightening in a frown. “And he  _has_ free will.”

“Listen” snapped Curufinwë. “I wasn’t finished. ‘ _In order to fulfil the Dark One’s commands. The mechanism by which His control is exerted on them is at present unknown, but the authors would hazard a guess at some form of dark song of power, or incantation, the seal made in blood. This type of bond is extremely powerful, and cannot be broken by regular, worldly means.’ ”_ Curufinwë flicked his eyes up to see Macalaurë’s face, looking appalled _._  “Wait, there’s more” he said. “An aside really, a footnote.”

“What? What is it?”

 _“ ‘Authors’ note: this type of fearful dark bond of servitude, of course, would only function correctly if the subject were not held to some other greater, prior bond upon their actions and behaviour. Thus, if the subject were to be - theoretically - already held to some other great oath or promise, then’_  - ” he heard Macalaurë draw in his breath. “ -  _then any bond which the Dark One placed upon the poor wretch in question would be made null and void. However, the authors know of no real examples of such a strong bond - extensive_ _evidence suggests that even the marriage of two fëar cannot have this effect. Thus, the efficacy against the control of the Dark One of being “already bound”, so to speak, is currently a merely theoretical proposition, and, were the authors to speculate, it is highly likely to remain that way until the end of Arda itself. For such a bond would have to be forged in the light of the One Himself. Furthermore, it would be a fearful thing, capable of wreaking far more destruction on its unfortunate bearer than any bond of the Enemy. If such a bond were to ever be made, then may the One have mercy upon the fëa of the poor unfortunate in question, for possession by the Lord of Angband would certainly be the least of their concerns.’ ”_

Curufinwë stopped reading, and the silence fell heavy between them. 

“ _Already bound_ ” murmured Macalaurë, staring into the light of the lampstone on Curufinwë’s desk. “The… the Oath? You really think…”

“I am certainly starting to, yes.”

“He survived with his will intact…  _hopefully_  intact… because of the Oath?”

“Can you come up with another explanation? The Oath binds us, Macalaurë. It answers to a higher authority than Moringotto.”

Macalaurë pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a long, long while, saying nothing. Then he looked up. “What does this imply, Curvo? We are bound to the world? What happens if we are slain, for example. What about… what about Atar? Ambarto?”

“I don’t know” said Curufinwë, feeling his face heating up, the pain rising again in him, even as it had hours ago, when he had found the passage, coming to the same conclusion. “I don’t know, Macalaurë.” He glared up at his brother, defiant. “But I know what we must do.”

Macalaurë nodded. “There truly is only one choice left to us now. Get the Silmarilli back. There is no other option.”


End file.
